Oddrúnargrátr, a reading
Episode Stats
Harmful content
Misogyny
3
sentences flagged
Hate speech
10
sentences flagged
Summary
The Lament of Odrun Vitha III is one of the most famous poems in the saga of the Old Norse sagas. It tells the story of a young woman named Odrun, who is the sister of the hero, Gunnar, and falls in love with him.
Transcript
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Vitha III in the Codex Regius. It is not quoted or mentioned elsewhere, except that the composer
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of the short Sigurthle seems to have been familiar with it. The Varsunga saga says nothing of the
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story on which it is based, and mentions Odrun only once, in the course of its paraphrase of
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Brunhild's prophecy from the short Sigurthle. That the poem comes from the 11th century is
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generally agreed. Prior to the year of 1000, there is no trace of the figure of Odrun,
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Atli's sister. And yet, the Odrunagrater is almost certainly older than the short Sigurthle,
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so that the last half of the 11th century seems to be a fairly safe guess.
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Where or how the figure of Oldrune entered the Sigurds-Atli cycle is uncertain.
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She does not appear in any of the extant German versions,
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and it is generally assumed that she was a creation of the North,
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though the poet refers to old tales concerning her.
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She does not directly affect the course of the story at all,
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though the poet has used effectively the episode of Gunnar's death
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with the implication that Otley's vengeance on Gunnar and Hogni
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was due, at least in part, to his discovery of Gunnar's love affair with Odrun.
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The material which forms the background of Odrun's story
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belongs wholly to the German part of the legend,
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and is paralleled with considerable closeness in the Niebuhrlingelied.
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Only Oldroon herself and the subsidiary figures of Borgny and Virlemund are northern additions.
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The geography, on the other hand, is so utterly chaotic
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as to indicate that the original localization of the Attlee story had lost all trace of significance
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In the manuscript, the poem, or rather the brief introductory prose note, bears the heading of Borgni and Odrun, and nearly all editions following late paper manuscripts have given the poem the title it bears here.
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Outside of a few apparently defective stanzas and some confusing trampositions, the poem has clearly been preserved in good condition, and the beginning and end are definitely marked.
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Hythrek was the name of a king whose daughter was called Borgni.
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Vilmund was the name of the man who was her lover.
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She could not give birth to a child until Odrun, Otli's sister, had come to her.
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Odrun had been beloved of Gunnar, son of Gyoki.
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I have heard it told in olden tales how a maiden came to Mourningland.
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No one of all on earth above to Hythrek's daughter help could give.
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This, O Drunlorn, the sister of Otli, that sore the maiden's sickness was, that bit better
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forth from his stall she brought, and the saddle laid on the steed so block.
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She let the horse go o'er the level ground, till she reached the hall that loftily rose.
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And in she went from the end of the hall, from the weary steed the saddle she took, hear
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A serving maid spake, Here Borgny lies in bitter pain,
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Odrun spake, Who worked this woe for the woman thus,
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A serving maid spake, Virmund is he the hero's friend,
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Wrapped the woman in bedclothes warm For five winters, yet her father knew not.
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Then no more they spake, methinks She went at the knees of the woman to sit,
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With magic Odrun and mightily Odrun Chanted for Borgni potent charms.
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At last were born a boy and girl, Son and daughter of Hogni's slayer,
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In speech the woman so weak began, Nor said she ought ere this she spake.
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So may the holy ones thee help, Frig and Freyja,
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In favoring gods, as thou hast saved me from sorrow now.
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Odrun spake, I come not hither to help thee thus,
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An aid to all I should ever bring, When they shared the wealth the warriors had.
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Borgni spake, Wild art thou, Odrun, and witless now,
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But so in hatred to me thou speakest, I followed thee where thou didst fare, as we had been
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Odrun spake, I remembered the evil one eve thou speakest, when a draught I gave to Gunnar
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Thou didst say that never such a deed by maid was done, save by me alone.
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Then the sorrowing woman set her down To tell the grief of her troubles great.
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Happy I grew in the hero's hall, As the warriors wished and they loved me well.
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Glad I was of my father's gifts, For winter's five while my father lived.
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These were the words the wary king, Ere he died, spake last of all.
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He bade me with red gold dowered to be, And the grim-heeled sun in the south bewetted.
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But Brynhild the helm he bade to wear, And wish made bright, he said, she should be.
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For a nobler maid would never be born On earth, he said, if death should spare her.
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At her weaving Brynhild set in her bower, Lons and folk alike she had.
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The earth and heaven high resounded, When Fafnir's slayer the city saw.
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Then battle we fought with the foreign swords, And a city was broken that Brynhild had.
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Not long thereafter, but all too soon, Their evil wiles full well she knew.
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Woeful for this her vengeance was, As so we learned to our sorrow all,
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In every lawn shall all men hear, How herself at Sigurd's side she slew.
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Love to Gunnar then I gave, To the breaker of rings as Brynhild might,
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To Atli rings so red they offered, And mighty gifts to my brother would give.
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Fifteen dwellings fain would he give For me and the burden that Grani bore,
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But oddly said he would never receive Marriage gold from Gilkey's son.
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And my head I laid on the hero's shoulder, Many there were of kinsmen mine,
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Oughty said that never I would evil plan or ill deed do,
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But none may this of another think, Or surely speak when love is shared.
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Soon as men did Oughty send, In the murky wood on me to spy,
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Hither they come, where they should not come, Where beneath one clover close we lay.
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To the warrior's ruddy rings we offered, That not to Adli ere they should say,
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But swiftly home they hastened thence, And eager all to Adli told.
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Clothes from Guthrin kept they hid, what first of all she ought to have known.
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Great was the clatter of gilded hoofs on Gukki's sons through the gateway road.
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The hero, heart they hewed from Hogni then, and the other they cast in the serpent's cave.
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For help from me in his heart yet hoped, The high-born king might come to him.
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Alone was I gone to getterman then, The draught mix and ready to make.
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Sudden I heard from Hressi clear, How in sorrow the strings of the harp resounded.
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I bade the serving-maids ready to be, for I longed the hero's life to save.
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Across the sound the boats we sailed, till we saw the whole of Otley's home.
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And crawling the evil woman came, Otley's mother, where she ever wrought.
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And hard she bit to Gunnar's heart, so I could not help the hero brave.
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Oft have I wondered how after this, Serpent's bed goddess, I still might live.
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For while I loved the warrior brave, The giver of swords is my very self.
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Thou didst learn, see and listen, The while I said, the mighty grief,